California Schemin': Book One in the Malibu Mayhem Trilogy (8 page)

“I wonder if Mia signed up for that weeklong intensive,” I said. “The one the manicurists were telling us about.”

“According to Mandy and Mallory, she’s been there longer than a week,” George said.

“Why doesn’t she want to go home?” I said, still watching Mia as she stepped aboard the yacht. “Maybe that reality show got to her. Or maybe she was sick of being the ‘plain’ sister.”

“Or maybe she was just sick of her sisters!” George said. “My turn to look through that thing.”

I stepped aside. But the moment George peered through—

“The quarter ran out!” she groaned.

“I didn’t see anyone famous except for Mia,” Bess complained. She held out her hand. “Anyone have another quarter?”

I was wondering about Mia, but not enough to spend our first night out spying through a telescope.

“Enough stargazing,” I said. “Let’s check out that Ferris wheel.”

“It’s eighty-five feet high,” George said once we were seated inside our dangling car.

“TMI!” Bess groaned.

Once on the Ferris wheel, it was a slow but breathtaking ride to the top. Even Bess agreed the view was awesome.

“Who needs a telescope?” she exclaimed. “You can see all of L.A. from up here.”

As I glanced in the direction of the yacht, my thoughts drifted back to Mia.

What’s going on in that retreat?
I wondered.
And why won’t Mia Casabian come home?

“Watch out, Pacific,” George exclaimed. “Here I come!”

It was the next morning, and the three of us were carrying surfboards to the beach. Instead of the gauzy white bandage from yesterday, George was wearing a lighter adhesive one.

“Dr. Viola said it would be okay to go swimming today,” she said. “I just hope Ty and Devon don’t mind another surfer.”

“At least there was no garbage on the beach when we woke up,” I said.

“Just an innocent casualty,” Bess said.

“Huh?” George asked.

We looked to see where Bess was pointing. There, lying stiffly on the sand, was a seagull. An undoubtedly dead seagull.

“I bet it got something stuck in its throat,” Bess said.

“Great.” I sighed. “We must have missed some trash when we were cleaning up yesterday.”

“There is something you missed,” George said. She pointed to the back of my surfboard.

I flipped my board around and froze. Bright orange letters were scrawled across it:

GO BACK TO RIVER HIGHTS BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE!

“
W
hoever wrote it,” I said, “spelled River Heights wrong.”

“What do you mean,
whoever
wrote it?” George exclaimed. “Who else? The Casabians.”

We checked the other two boards for more messages. Nothing—but that threat was enough to creep me out.

“It had to be Mandy and Mallory,” Bess said, tilting her head to study the message. “They used lipstick. Tangy Tangerine, Mallory’s favorite shade.”

I could see George taking deep breaths to keep from losing it. But she wasn’t the only one who was angry about what had happened.

“We’re going to their house right now,” George ordered. “We’re not leaving until Mandy and Mallory own up to what they’ve done.”

I nodded. “They can’t get away with trashing beaches and threatening people.”

“What about our surfing lesson?” Bess asked. She pointed to Ty and Devon riding the waves. “The guys are probably waiting for us.”

I shook my head as I watched Ty and Devon carve the same wave. “Are those two really that clueless about what’s happening on our beach?” I asked.

“Woo-hoo,” Ty cheered to Devon. “The waves today are, like, totally sick!”

“X-treme, dude, x-treme!” Devon shouted back.

George rolled her eyes. “They’re clueless. Now let’s pay their girlfriends a visit.”

We returned our surfboards to the shed and walked to the villa. This time the door was opened, not by the housekeeper, but by Bev, the producer.

“Okay, here’s the scene,” Bev babbled to us. “You all come through the door and demand to see Mandy and Mallory.”

“We were just going to do that,” I said.

“Good,” Bev snapped. She then turned and yelled over her shoulder. “We’re taping here!”

Before I could say another word, we were blinded by the lights.

“I don’t care if we’re on TV or not,” George said as she pushed her way inside. “It’s time the world saw what those sisters are really about.”

Bess and I followed George into the house. Unfortunately, the cameraman and soundman followed us. So did Mandy’s dog Peanut Butter, yapping at our heels.

With Bev’s help, we found Mandy and Mallory lounging on a snowy white sofa that swept halfway around the living room.

“I suppose you got our messages,” Mandy said coolly.

“Your messages, huh?” George demanded. “So that voice mail and those lipsticky warnings
were
yours.”

“By the way,” Bess told the sisters, “River Heights is spelled with an
e
.”

The camera was rolling, but I no longer cared. I stepped right up to them and said, “I know you two are famous, but what gives you the right to do what you did?”

Mandy jutted her chin out and said, “What gives
you
the right to steal our boyfriends?”

The three of us stared at the Casabians.

“Huh?” George asked.

Mallory began to sob. “We saw you surfing with Ty and Devon. And flirting with them too.”

“Especially that redhead over there,” Mandy said,
pointing at me. “Falling off her surfboard so Ty could help her.”

“We were not flirting with them!” I insisted. “Okay, maybe Bess was—but it was only to get information.”

“What information?” Mallory sniffed.

“On the mess that was made of our beach,” I explained. “We thought the guys might know something about it.”

From the corner of my eye, I could see the director motioning the camera and boom mike closer to me.

“You still think
we
did it?” Mandy demanded. “Seriously, do these look like hands that would have anything to do with garbage?”

To prove their point, Mandy and Mallory held out perfectly manicured hands.

“What about the messages?” I demanded.

“You had to have been trespassing to write on Nancy’s surfboard,” George said.

Peanut yipped as he jumped on Mallory’s lap. Stroking the dog’s silky fur, she said, “We called in the first message. That was easy.”

“The other message was harder,” Mandy said. “We had to wait until you left the house last night. That’s when we snuck onto your beach and wrote the message on the board.”

“So you
were
trespassing!” George said.

“Only for a few minutes,” Mandy said. “Then we went to an awesome movie premiere in Westwood. But now that we know you’re not after our guys, we won’t be doing stuff like that anymore.”

“Gee, thanks,” George said sarcastically. “You’re just lucky we didn’t go to the police or call Stacey.”

“That would have been awkward,” Mallory said.

I was glad we got Mandy and Mallory to come clean about the messages. But there were still unanswered questions about the trash and that horrific needle.

“Can I ask you something?” I said. “Do you guys use makeup from Roland’s Renewal Retreat and Spa? The package has a yellow sunburst design—”

“Never!” Mandy cut in.

The sisters then looked straight into the camera.

“We use only Foxy Girl products,” Mallory said.

“Because in order to be foxy,” Mandy said, a provocative gleam in her eye, “you have to
look
foxy!”

“And—cut!” Bev shouted. “Great way to plug our sponsors, girls.”

Bess, George, and I exchanged looks.

That answered that.

Bev waved the cameraman over to Mallory on the sofa. “Let’s get a one-shot,” she said.

Peanut growled as Mallory tossed him off her lap. “What do I say?” she asked Bev.

“Talk about how relieved you are that the girls weren’t stealing your boyfriends,” Bev said quickly. “Blah, blah, blah.”

Out of nowhere a woman rushed over to Mallory. She brushed powder over her face, then hurried out of the shot.

“Three, two, and one,” Bev counted down before pointing to Mallory.

Bess, George, and I stood stunned as Mallory spoke directly to the camera. “We found out that the girls next door were not stealing our boyfriends. So, like, we left that message on their phone for nothing. I ruined my favorite lipstick for nothing too, which is totally stressing me out.”

“Cut!” Bev shouted. “Let’s take a ten-minute break, then shoot cutaways.”

“We’ll take a half hour.” Mandy smiled at us. “Let’s have coffee outside.”

We left the crew inside to lounge on the Casabian sisters’ deck. The five of us drank coffee and had our first real friendly chat.

“How do you like L.A.?” Mandy asked us.

“We love L.A!” Bess answered, shooting George a look. “And when I finally see Rodeo Drive, I’ll love it even more.”

“We can take you there one day,” Mandy said.

“Really?” I asked.

“Sure,” Mallory said. “Let’s all go out one night. We know the best clubs and places to eat—”

“And a lot of cute guys to introduce you to,” Mandy added. “Unless you already have boyfriends.”

“I do,” I replied. “His name is Ned.”

The sisters smiled when I showed them Ned’s picture on my phone.

“Nice!” Mallory said.

I thought this was a good time to mention Mia. I still hadn’t forgotten seeing her on the yacht last night.

“You two have boyfriends,” I said slowly. “But what about Mia? Is she seeing anybody?”

Their faces dropped.

“Who knows
anything
about Mia these days?” Mallory said softly. “She’s still over at that dumb spa.”

“Well, we think we saw Mia last night. She was getting on a yacht with a bunch of other people,” Bess said.

“You saw Mia?” Mandy gasped. She turned to Mallory and said, “She was probably on Roland’s yacht.”

“So it
is
Roland’s yacht,” I said.

Mallory nodded. “Everyone in Malachite keeps their yachts at the marina,” she said. “Except Roland. He keeps his anchored off his beach at all times.”

I wondered why that was, but I still had a few
more questions about Mia. “Why don’t you go to the retreat and find out about your sister?”

“We’ve tried,” Mandy said. “The first time we went, Mia told us she was fine. The next visit, some blond woman in a white suit told us that Mia didn’t want to see us.”

Blond woman in a white suit? Inge!

“Did you ever try calling or texting her?” George asked.

“Sure, but Mia doesn’t answer,” Mandy said.

“Except that one time,” Mallory reminded her sister. “I got her to stay on for a few minutes, but it was weird. She sounded like a different person.”

“A different person?” I repeated.

“Her voice was flat, and she kept going on and on about Roland,” Mallory explained.

“Well, it gets even weirder,” Mandy went on. “We just got a call from the bank asking about a huge withdrawal from Mia’s account. I’m pretty sure Mia took out the money, but why would she need all that money in a place like that?”

“It’s a mystery,” Mallory said.

The word “mystery” made Bess, George, and me trade glances. Should we tell the sisters we were detectives?

Probably not.

Bev called Mandy and Mallory back into the house.

“Thanks for the coffee,” George said. “But no more messages on Stacey’s phone, okay?”

Mallory quickly looked over her shoulder, then whispered to us, “Those mean messages were Bev’s idea.”

“She said it would make great TV,” Mandy added with a shrug. “Sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” I said. “Keep us posted on Mia, okay?”

“Deal,” Mallory agreed.

On our way back to the house, we stopped on the beach, hoping the dead gull we had seen was a bad dream, but it wasn’t—it was still there.

“I believe Mandy and Mallory when they said they didn’t trash our beach,” I admitted. “They seemed to have pretty solid alibis.”

“How do we know they’re solid?” George asked.

“I know a way we can find out,” Bess said. She pulled out her phone and went online. “There’s a site called Star Track. It tells you where and when celebrities are on the town—with tons of pictures.”

“I’m supposed to be the computer geek here,” George complained. “How come I didn’t know about Star Track?”

“Because you’re not star
struck
,” I said with a smile. “Like Bess is.”

George and I peered over Bess’s shoulder. Music blared as a flashy home page appeared. Pictures of celebrities smiled out of blinking silver stars. One star contained a picture of the Casabian sisters.

“Perfect!” Bess said, clicking on the star.